


Eames' Favorite Thing

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	Eames' Favorite Thing

There is nothing Eames loves more, nothing, than to be on his knees with Arthur's cock in his mouth. The way the smell of him - clean, acrid, it doesn't matter - fills his nostrils. The flirting with his gag reflex as he moves, the feel of his tongue against velvet underside and Arthur's twitch, or even moan, when he does it just right, yes, yes, all of it, combined with his own feet tucked under and knees wide, cock aching for attention, until Arthur comes, comes in his mouth, he feels the very definition of greed in his bones, in his own cock. 

That first time, in a Los Angeles hotel, Arthur simply announced "I got a suite." So he followed, delighting in Arthur's fussy precision, all his constant foresight and planning, all the things that made him so wickedly competent, bag and coat dangling from his hand, the rest of the team scattering on cue. Dom disappearing into his family's grip, Saito into a sleek limo. Ariadne to public transit. No one on the trail of an extraction team would be looking for two men hailing a taxi. Not two men when one of them looks at the other the way Eames looks at Arthur. 

That first time, Arthur asked at check-in for extra towels to be sent up, and Eames smirks just a tiny bit. 

The suite suits Los Angeles, modern amenities and all that, but all he really wants is a strong drink and the taste of Arthur's cock in his mouth. So when they've both showered and shaved and feel relatively refreshed - 10 hours on a plane, even spent in various levels of dreams, is still 10 hours on a plane - and Arthur is ensconced in a white fluffy bathrobe, flipping through the hotel's directory of nearby restaurants with a thoughtful look, but a relaxed thoughtful look - Eames swallows what remains of the minibar's whiskey offering and peels the man off the sofa, with a muttered "come along, darling". 

The trick, he's learned, with fussy, precise people, is to not explain what you're doing. Mystery is imperative, he thinks. 

Pulls them both into the really quite nicely appointed bedroom, and kisses him until Arthur kisses him back, which takes mere moments, and then pulls open Arthur's bathrobe, mouthing his way down swiftly to his target, and swallows him in, settling onto his knees only after. 

Even though he's initiated events, controlled the encounter, it gives him a deep, submissive thrill to be on his knees this way. It's compounded when Arthur takes him by the back of his neck, having guessed correctly that the spot Eames likes to stroke when he places his arm across the back of the taxi seat as they ride together, fingers doodling and scratching lightly at the nape of Arthur's neck, is the spot he most wants Arthur to touch him. Precisely. Wonderful observant man. 

He gives up everything in that moment of Arthur stroking at his nape, kneeling, mouth filled with cock, knees tight on the clean carpet. The bathrobe hangs open as he keeps his hands light on Arthur's hips, not having permission yet to clutch him. 

"Are you hard?" 

He doesn't take his mouth off Arthur's cock to say yes, but gets the point across. 

Husky: "Show me." 

He complies, eagerly. 

Eames is greedy, so greedy, he wants it all, Arthur standing over him like a prince in a medieval painting, robes parted so that he can satisfy him while his own cock anticipates. 

This first time, the smell of him, freshly clean, male, musk, that unique odor of arousal, he keeps his eyes shut, focusing on one sense at a time. Smell. Then taste and touch, the softness and firmness of the cock in his mouth, the way Arthur has taken over, effortlessly, fingers at his nape telling him how to move. He moans without realizing he's done it, and Arthur moans, too, in response and Eames is abruptly entranced with the idea of vibration and its application so as to make Arthur almost delirious. 

It doesn't matter how long he kneels, so long as it's like this, drunk on the moment, on the two of them, on the cock in his mouth and the need to be his, to belong to Arthur, to the direction of those competent hands, to being that which gives Arthur blinding pleasure. 

When Arthur finally comes he swallows, secreting this gift inside his very body, where no one can ever steal it from him. 

They stumble to land on the bed, his knees stiff for a moment, and Arthur pulls them together, spooning him and almost instantly placing a possessive hand on Eames' cock. Stroking him attentively until Eames' hand clutches at the sheets. Breathes 'yes' across the nape of Eames' neck, and repeats it when Eames twitches uncontrollably, almost there, almost begging, and he does beg when Arthur whispers 'mine' across those fine hairs at his neck, naked and vulnerable to the touch. When Arthur finally lets him come, he see stars. 


End file.
